“Come on, man, you know this. You know this.” The guys are chanting Zeke’s name and he’s trying to shush them, but it’s all an act and I love it. I love that he’s raising the stakes and lowering them again.
I pinch my lips together because like Zeke, I’m a lousy poker player.
“Well, I don’t think it’s Nomar Garciaparra because I don’t think he hit more than one, though I’m quite sure he’s the only one to do it at home.”
“And yet, that’s not the question,” I tease, trying not to let my smile out. “Um, Stephie, isn’t there a time limit to all this?” It’s a game and we’re playing it together. It’s us against the lot of them.
I wish I could take his hand across the table.
“Um, thirty more seconds, Zeke!” Stephie says, not looking at her watch. Instead, she snakes her arm through his like she can offer him support.
Poor Stephie.
Zeke frowns and shakes his head sadly. And for a moment I wonder if his goal is to let me win like I let him win, and I feel the panic rising. No, no. I don’t want to win. Not now.
“I wish I knew for sure,” he starts. “I’m going to have to guess. So maybe . . .”
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Zeke—
“Fernando Tatis.”
He hesitates, like he doesn’t know that it was the right answer. There’s a moment of silence as his teammates trust the final arbiter, the internet.
But I stop them, my eyes locked on Zeke’s. “Yup.”
His smile is finally authentically his. It widens into a true grin. “Really?”
And I have a feeling the question isn’t so much about the inane piece of sports trivia he got right, but a different question altogether.
“Yes,” I say, but what I’m really saying is, Yes, Zeke, I do want to kiss you.
The girls behind me are grumbling and gathering their coats but they don’t begrudge me the loss. They know they couldn’t have answered half those questions. “Well done,” one says, patting me on the back, but my eyes are still on Zeke. Stephie squeezes his arm but he isn’t paying attention to her.
After the requisite back slaps and cheers, the place starts to empty and still Zeke and I stand across the table from each other, the scarred wood separating us.
Stephie holds out her hand to Zeke, her bright nails hurting my eyes. “Come on, Zeke, I want to congratulate you.”
“I need to talk to Abby,” he says, his arms staying by his legs.
He’s not looking at her but I watch her frown deepen. I’m thinking of the kiss I was promised, the kiss I now realize how desperately I want.
Verb: want. Vouloir. Present tense. Je veux. Tu veux. Il veut. Nous voulons. Vous voulez. Ils veulent.
“Should I wait outside?” Stephie asks, her mouth forming a pout.
Past tense. J’ai voulu. Tu as voulu. Il a voulu. Nous avons voulu. Vous avez voulu. Ils ont voulu.
“Nah. I’ll catch up with the group later tonight.”
Future tense. Je voudrai. Tu voudras. Il voudra. Nous voudrons. Vous voudrez. Ils voudront.
In any tense, my body is humming.
“What was the answer?” he asks when it’s clear nobody is paying attention to us anymore.
I raise my eyebrows, lightness filling my body like helium.
“Come on, I’m curious.”
“I don’t remember?”
The last of the students leave the alcove and Zeke takes four steps until he’s right beside me.
“Tell me,” he whispers. He takes another step forward, and I take one back, and we continue until I can’t go any farther, until I’m up against the wall. I feel his breath against my lips and even if nothing happens tonight, even if this is all a wash, this is enough.
“First three batters get on base, the next two get out. Sixth batter puts a ball in play, guy on third advances home. Seventh batter is announced—which means he’s officially counted—but the other team appeals the call, saying the sixth guy didn’t touch home. Umpire calls him out. Seven batters, no runs, one inning.”
“Why did you pretend to forget?” His eyes are focused on mine, the blue so pale behind his thick glasses. His hands slip past mine until our fingers are intertwined. We are so close. So, so close that I almost can’t focus.
“I don’t know.” It’s both a lie and not, because everything is jumbled inside.
I want to move back, to flee, to stop this moment so I can think this through better. Maybe this kiss isn’t a good idea. Maybe I can say I let him win, let him appear the victor, and get out of the bet.
“Arrête de penser.”
Stop thinking.
I can’t. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back against the wall.
“Ouvre tes yeux.”
I open my eyes, unable to stop myself.
“I won’t make you kiss me if you don’t want to,” he says, his words so soft I’m not sure he really said them. Our fingers are gripping each other’s and it’s so intense. Do I want things to go back to the way they were earlier today? I think about the way his body shielded Alice to get her out of Chutes. How he talked her down.
“Do you want to kiss me?” I don’t know where this bravery is coming from but it’s definitely not me flirting. It’s an honest question, and Zeke knows that.
“God, yes,” he replies, and I can feel the truth in his answer.
Before I can think myself down, I lean forward, brushing my lips against his. I could move back now. I could shift, but I don’t. I slide my nose to the side of his, kissing him lightly again, his lips still unmoving. Our kiss remains chaste. His lips are slightly chapped, rough, and I want to remember this moment.
“Again,” he whispers again, his words opening his lips, and mine follow. I kiss his top lip, and then his bottom, and the only way I know he’s just as wrecked by this as I am is by how intensely his fingers squeeze mine. Our entire bodies are still but for our clenched fingers and the slightest movement of our lips.
“Abby,” he whispers, and then there’s nothing slow about this kiss. His fingers drop mine and he uses them instead to pull my head closer, cradle my jaw. His mouth opens wider and this is nothing like I’ve felt before. I feel it in my entire body, like it has engaged all my muscles, all thoughts, desires, and possibilities.
And then there’s a clearing of a throat. “Um, I think your friends have left.”
Tilting my forehead to Zeke’s, I want to hide. Holy crap, we just got caught making out.
Holy crap, we were just making out.
Making out.
I was making out with Zeke.
I don’t even know how to say that in French.
“I just need to clean the tables,” the voice says again, and I know we need to break apart but part of me wants to give her a twenty and tell her to get lost.
Except.
Zeke’s right hand drops to find mine, and he squeezes it gently. “Come on, let’s walk up to campus.”
Here’s what could have happened: We could have walked hand in hand to campus, whispering, stopping to continue what had been rudely interrupted by a waitress just doing her job. He could have pressed me back against the side of Chutes like they do in the movies, hands back in my hair, lips finding mine. We could have found a park bench, a million park benches, and continued where we left off.
Except instead we both stop to use the bathrooms. And in the time we are both in there, something changes. Zeke’s mouth becomes a hard line when we meet back in front of Chutes; his thumb is busy flicking through the messages on his phone.
“Can you give me a sec?” he says as we make our way out of the coffee shop, his hand no longer in mine, and before I have a chance to reply, his phone is at his ear.
“It’s me,” he starts, and then there’s a long pause. His head is turned away from me but his jaw is clenched, and his free hand is rubbing his bad shoulder. “I know.” He finally sighs. “I know. I know. I’m working on it.” Another pause, this time so thick I almost wonder
if I shouldn’t put my hand on his back, remind him I’m here. “There’s not much I can do about it right now except wait and see what happens.”
He stops walking, and I try to give him space, his back turning even more to block me. “You aren’t telling me anything I don’t know.”
There’s another pause and then he holds out the phone in front of him and flicks it off. “Damn it!” he growls, and shoves it in his back pocket. He rubs his shoulder harder, as if the tension exacerbated the pain.
“Is everything okay?”
Turning, his eyes flash for a moment. But then they close and he shakes his head. “Do you mind if we try to find a cab? I’m suddenly more tired than I thought.”
“Of course.” We walk side by side toward the taxi depot, the silence uncomfortable and heavy. I want to ask about the phone call but his shoulders are straight up and by his ears, a wall against any conversation.
Through the short car ride, the silence extends and mutates, filling all the spaces, covering us like a heavy blanket. Zeke stares out the window, left leg bouncing up and down, anger radiating. I wonder if after all that kissing I’m allowed to put my hand on his knee, still his movement, but I don’t.
“I’m sorry I made you kiss me,” he finally says as we turn on to campus. “It wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have—”
I want to remind him that I let him win, that I lied about not knowing the answer to the question, that he knew that.
But instead I wonder if he isn’t saying something else entirely.
“That’s okay. It was my mistake as much as yours.” I say the words slowly and carefully, wrapping them around me like a thick blanket, protecting me from being exposed.
And I’m thankful that Alice is sleeping when I get back to our room, because otherwise I would have to admit that I raced out of the cab to make sure Zeke didn’t see my eyes fill with tears. That those tears kept my pillow damp. That the word mistake, erreur, fills the room with its ugliness, and replaces the air in my lungs.
TWELVE
I SLEEP THROUGH AS MUCH of July 4 as I can handle. Each time I wake up, I remember the night before, the feeling of Zeke’s rough lips on mine, the way he held my head so gently. And then my stomach plunges, and I roll back over. Luckily, a week of staying up late, working myself into the ground, means that sleep comes quickly. And when it doesn’t, I read until it comes back.
My goal is to sleep until I stop feeling like an idiot. Or until Monday morning, when I’m due back in class. Whichever comes first.
But Alice comes first instead. The third time I wake up, she’s on her bed, watching me. I’m about to feign sleep again, despite my urgent need to pee, but Alice speaks. “So I heard you kicked ass in the trivia game last night.”
The questions. The back and forth, so fast. Zeke shocked to realize how much I knew. Zeke laughing. The look on his face when I swept my lips against his.
Merde.
“I should have stayed with you.”
“And watched me sleep?”
“You’re watching me sleep.” I roll over so I’m no longer facing her.
“You aren’t sleeping. You’re talking to me.”
“If you weren’t talking—”
“What happened?”
Had she heard about the kiss? Had someone seen us? Were they already talking about it? The athlete and the nerd? The taming of the shrew?
“You were crying last night. And given that I heard you lost the trivia game by one point, I assumed it wasn’t because of that. And then I saw Zeke this morning looking like crap, and he asked where you were.”
I flip around, clutching my pillow in front of me. “You didn’t tell him I was crying, did you?”
Alice’s eyebrows raise until they’re hidden beneath her long bangs. “Seriously?”
I curl around the pillow. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. And you can tell me why Zeke looks like crap and why you’re crying. As if they’re different stories.”
“Last time you forced me to leave the room—”
“Yes, yes,” Alice says, jumping off her bed. “But it’s not like you can stay in bed forever. Plus, I owe you for going out last night and taking me home. So let me buy you breakfast.” She takes a glance at my night table. “Make that lunch.”
The coffee shop Alice drags me to—Walker Brothers—is perfect in every way, apart from the fact that it’s across the street from Chutes and Lattes.
“Come on,” Alice squeals. “They have chocolate chip challah French toast yumminess with syrup and sliced strawberries. And whipped cream. It’s basically the best thing ever. Inside or outside?”
I glance across the street. “Inside.”
“Perfect, we’ll sit here in the sun. You need to be in the fresh air.”
“I said inside,” I grumble, shielding my eyes to be able to look at Alice.
“I know. It wasn’t a question as much as a test. We were always going to sit outside.”
“Can we at least sit in the shade?”
She rolls her eyes dramatically but moves to the next table, where we are protected from the sun’s heavy glare by a black-and-white checkered awning. She picks up a plastic menu that matches the coffee shop’s checkered look, but with deep red accents.
As much as I hate being outside the seclusion of my room, this place is gorgeous. Hanging plants and flowers planted along the eating area provide the necessary greenery to make us feel like we’re not actually in the middle of a downtown sidewalk.
So far, foodwise, Merritt is the best place I’ve experienced in real life.
“I don’t even know why I’m looking at the menu. I know what I want.” Alice drops the menu and leans her head back, trying to catch some of the sun’s rays behind her.
“Why are you in such a good mood?” I grumble. My body feels empty, and I quickly gulp down the cool water we’re offered. Alice orders and the young waiter promises our coffee will be here soon.
Water. Coffee. Food. And sugar. Hopefully I’ll be human sometime soon.
Alice drops her head forward and begins to make a tower out of the sugar packets. “Why, because I freaked out last night?”
Damn. “No,” I whisper. “No. I’m sorry. I’m just in a crappy mood because last night was so freaking fabulous until it crashed and burned. So I assume the whole world is in a crappy mood too.”
Alice shrugs, her fingers still trying to settle the uneven pile so it can stand on its own. “Kind of like my night. But I’m trying to focus on the fabulous part, the fact that I tried, and less on the crash-and-burn part.”
She bites her bottom lip, hard, and her eyes fill with tears.
“You should be proud of yourself,” I say, grabbing her hands and stilling them. “You were incredibly brave for going out with a crowd like that. And we’ll keep working on it. There were a ton of people there last night; even I felt claustrophobic. But you’re right. You got back on the horse; you came out again. And you’ll do it. Little by little.”
Alice blinks away the tears, and for a moment, we both ignore the waiter, who puts down our coffees. Coffees with hearts swirled in the foam, and a small piece of wrapped chocolate on the saucer. Alice squeezes my hands and then turns to look up at the waiter.
“Thank you.” She smiles, and I’m struck again how her smile lights up her whole face. And apparently the waiter is too, because he mumbles and scurries away.
“I think you have an admirer,” I tease.
Alice winks. “He’s cute.”
Tall and thin, his hair cropped short, our waiter almost looks too young to be working. “Very,” I agree, and as we unwrap our chocolates, I start to tell her about last night.
Our food has just arrived when Alice sees someone she knows on the other side of the street.
“Colin! Over here!” she calls, jumping up so suddenly that she almost knocks over our table. And given the taste of my first bite of the French toast, I would lay down my life to protect
our food.
The guy weaves through the limited traffic on the street and makes his way to our table. He’s my height, thin, with dark hair and a sweet smile. A smile that he gives to Alice, along with a kiss on the cheek. His light gray T-shirt has a stylized human heart graphic on the front, and his well-worn jeans are splattered with paint.
Another admirer?
“Colin, this is my roommate, Abby.” Alice smiles. “Abby, Colin and I lived in the same building growing up. We went to the same school until Colin transferred out. What are you doing here?”
He pulls her in for another hug just as our waiter passes, his face decidedly less happy than before.
“I’m doing a summer intensive at the Art Institute. Are you doing the high school program too? I can’t believe I haven’t seen you on campus or at the mixers!”
Alice’s gaze drops, and I feel this overwhelming need to dive between them and rescue her. Clearly they don’t know each other that well.
“I also live in Chicago!” I intercede. “But I’m in Evanston.”
“Join us,” Alice says, grabbing a chair from the next table and shoving it to my side of the table. “Share with Abby. We think the waiter has a crush on me, and I don’t want him wondering whether I’m single.”
Maybe not an admirer . . .
Colin grins and winks across the table. “Do you mind if I share your side of the table?”
Soulful eyes, a sweet freckle under his left one, rich, dark skin? No, I definitely don’t mind. “Have a seat. You’re also welcome to share my French toast. There’s no way I can finish it myself.”
“Oooh, good idea.” Abby bounces in her seat, eyes flashing. “If you’re both eating off the same plate, the waiter will definitely believe you’re together.”
Colin throws his arm around the back of my chair and picks up his fork with his left hand. “How’s this, sweetness? Clear enough for your boyfriend?”
Colin smells like a perfect mixture of fresh soap and coffee, basically my crack. “You’re sure this isn’t too forward for you?” he whispers, fingers tickling my shoulder. “After all, we just met.”
The Distance from A to Z Page 10